


Sugar, Spice, and Frosting Fights

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Same School, Baking, Cookies Were Harmed In The Making Of This Fic, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Established Relationship, Food Fight, Food Play, Kinktober 2019, New Relationship, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, baking cookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: "We can't hang out," Shirabu informs him, receiving Yahaba's serve with ease. "I have to make cookies.""I'm coming over.""But—""Cookies.""They're for school, Yahaba.""Cookies."Shirabu sighs with that tone that tells Yahaba he has won this round, for now, and Yahaba beams, even as a stray ball smashes into his head.





	Sugar, Spice, and Frosting Fights

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 15 - Prompt: Food Play

Steam rises lightly from the cookies. Face pressed against the countertop, Yahaba stares at them longingly.

“Are you going to help, or what?” Shirabu drops a cookie sheet forcefully on the stovetop. Strawberry pink oven mitts shield his hands. Pulling them off, he kills the heat on the oven.

“We should make more,” Yahaba mumbles. “Just in case.”

Shirabu swats him with the oven mitt. “We’re not making more just so you can eat some.”

“Ehhh.” Yahaba stares at him with puppy dog eyes, but Shirabu merely hands him a tube of frosting. Foiled for the time being, Yahaba obediently begins decorating the cool cookies, Shirabu working silently besides him.

It’s for the best, Yahaba supposes. He may not be on a diet, but eating five hundred cookies in one sitting is probably just a tiny, little bit bad for his health. Even if they’re pumpkin shaped. Even if they’re dripping with orange frosting. Even if Yahaba has the power to literally write his name on all of them with the icing and claim them as his for the taking.

Shirabu elbows him. “Stay focused.” Frosting coats Yahaba’s fingers, and he licks it off, earning a second nudge from Shirabu. “Go wash your hands.”

“Let me get this straight,” Yahaba says. “If I touch any cookies with licked fingers, then they’re no longer edible?”

“If you touch any cookies with those fingers”—Shirabu cracks his knuckles—“you will have no fingers left.”

“Understood.” Popping the tainted cookie in his mouth, he makes his way to the sink. He scrubs his hands clean to the tune of some anime opening playing on Shirabu’s Bluetooth speaker.

Shirabu lays a goopy ghost cookie down on the rack. “We can’t stack them until they harden,” he says. Carefully, he drops two tiny chocolate chips on it for eyes. Hands clean and dry, Yahaba sticks a bat cookie in his mouth when Shirabu isn’t looking.

They work in silence, broken only by the music in the background and the sound of Shirabu smacking Yahaba every time he catches him intentionally spilling frosting on his hands.

“Stop wasting it,” he hisses. Such a venomous look has no place on a boy who is holding a sprinkle cookie. “We’re out of eggs. So help me, if I have to go to the store to get more frosting…” He draws his finger across his throat in one quick, threatening motion.

“You know”—Yahaba pipes the finishing touches on a cookie shaped like a witch hat—“we could just eat the leftover cookies when the frosting runs out.”

Shirabu attempts to hit him over the head with a pan, and Yahaba ducks, accepting that as a no. It’s not his fault he’s hungry. Volleyball burns off his breakfast, second breakfast, and lunch, leaving him forever in search of potato chips and sweets. Like the broomstick shaped cookie in his hand. Tilting it sidewise, the edge of the stick looks almost charred. It would be a shame to let Shirabu bring burned cookies to the school’s Halloween festival. It’s Yahaba’s duty as a good friend to destroy the evidence before any of their classmates discover it.

“Yahaba,” Shirabu warns.

“It’s burned.”

Shirabu looks from him to the pristine cookie. “Where?”

“Right”—Yahaba bites off the tip of the broomstick—“here.”

Shirabu growls. Closing his eyes, Yahaba braces himself for the punch he’s about to receive.

Nothing happens.

Cracking open one eye, he watches Shirabu turn away, biting his lip like he’s trying not to smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” Shirabu glances at him, and his jaw twitches as he bites down harder.

“Hmm.” The toaster rests near his elbow. Tilting it back, Yahaba peers into the shiny side at the distorted reflection of his face. His nose looks too big, one side of his face almost seeming to swirl, but he makes out a dark line of frosting above his lip, like a chocolate mustache. “Oh, very funny.” He wipes his mouth off.

“You did that to yourself,” Shirabu says.

“Liar.”

“Well if you’re going to be like that...” Shirabu squeezes the piping bag like a gun, splattering Yahaba’s face in orange frosting.

Yahaba glares. Picking up his own bag, he smears a green handprint across Shirabu’s cheek. “You said not to waste any frosting,” Yahaba reminds him, moving out of his reach and hiding behind the table.

Shirabu pauses. His gaze drifts from their dwindling supplies to the unfinished cookies, weighing his options. Any mess he makes will just be more work for them in the long run. Knowing this, Yahaba slowly moves back to his half of the cookies.

Shirabu unscrews the lid from the container of sprinkles. Pouring them out into a large bowl, he pushes it closer to him, and Yahaba dips a pumpkin cookie in the sea of orange and black. “These are nice.”

“Glad you think so.” Picking up a spatula, Shirabu scoops up a giant glob of frosting from the mixing bowl.

“Need help with the bag?” Yahaba asks. He reaches for it, but Shirabu shakes his head. “Are you sure—”

Shirabu smashes the frosting in his face. Yahaba tenses. Before he can wipe it away, Shirabu’s hands tangle in his hair, and he shoves him down into the bowl of sprinkles.

Yahaba lifts his head slowly. Frosting drips off his nose. Wiping sprinkles out of his eyes, he glares.

Biting down on a smile, Shirabu appraises him. “Hmm.” He covers his mouth with his hand, as if that will erase his thinly concealed snickers. “I don’t remember making creampuffs.”

“That’s it.” Yahaba tackles him. They hit the ground hard. Sprinkles rain down on them. Shirabu flips Yahaba off him, but Yahaba latches onto his leg, yanking him back before he can escape.

“Get off!” Shirabu shoves his hand against Yahaba’s face, coating his fingers in frosting. “You’re messy.” His elbow bumps the cabinet, and the bowl of chocolate chips falls off the counter, exploding across the floor.

“You started this,” Yahaba says. He tries to stand. His feet slip in the mess, and he falls back on Shirabu, knocking them both down. “Ow.”

“You think _you’re_ in pain?”

Yahaba freezes. “Are you okay?” Sitting up, he inspects Shirabu for bruises. “Where does it hurt?” He lifts Shirabu’s arm to look at his elbow.

Shirabu rips his arm away. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

Rolling his eyes, Shirabu wipes a glob of frosting off Yahaba’s cheek. “Don’t act serious when you look so stupid.”

“You’re important,” Yahaba insists.

“Shut up.”

Yahaba smirks. “If you get any redder, you’ll melt off all that frosting.”

Shirabu glares, but his face burns, the blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. “Shut up.”

Leaning forward, Yahaba kisses his cheek. He smiles. Frosting coats his lips, and he licks it off. “Revenge never tasted so sweet.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, sweet thing.”


End file.
